Potter's 11
by Aedammair
Summary: Five years ago, Harry was imprisoned for a confidence scheme gone wrong. Now, he's out and he's determined to get his life and his wife back. Ron and Hermione and a gang of others are along for the ride...and, possibly, some cash.
1. Azkaban

So this is an idea that I've been kicking around for awhile - light-hearted and fun. It's dedicated to my friend Oliver, who is my Ocean's 11 partner in crime, though we've never actually planned a casino heist. We did steal roses once...

The story belongs to Warner Brothers and the characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Enjoy...

* * *

_AZKABAN PRISON -_

The walk from his cell to the parole board's conference room is fairly short and he doesn't attempt conversation with the guard. If he thinks hard enough he'll remember that this is the man who asked whether or not Ginny was good in bed and at the time he remembers telling the guy to sod off, a response that was rewarded with a fast kick in the knees and a Billy club to the shoulders. No attempted conversation.

The guard seats him in a chair across from the three members of the parole board and he tries to remember the last time someone was paroled from this particular hell hole.

"Good morning," a woman to his left says and he nods. "Please state your name for the record."

"Harry Potter."

"We are here today to discuss the possibility of your parole from Azkaban."

There is the shuffling sound of papers and not much else. Behind him, someone – probably the guard – clears their throat and the noise echoes across the sparse room.

"It says here that while you were never formally charged, you have been implicated in over a dozen confidence jobs and schemes to defraud. Do you have anything to say to this?"

He has to stop himself from shrugging. "Well, as you say, ma'am, I was never charged."

"Can you tell us why this recent case was different, Mr. Potter?" This from a man to his right.

This time he does shrug. "My wife left me. I fell into a…destructive pattern."

"If released from Azkaban do you believe that you would fall into the same destructive pattern?"

He smiles very slightly. "She already left me once. I don't think she'd do it again, just for kicks."

The woman in the middle, a petite blond that he would find pretty under different circumstances, looks at him with a piercing stare. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, what do you plan to do if released from prison?"

He looks from her, to the woman on her right, to the man on her left, and back again. The truth is, he'll get the revenge he's been planning for the last four years. They don't need to know this, mostly because if he tells them they'll never let him out, so instead he smiles and gives them some bullshit line about remaining on the straight and narrow and rehabilitating himself of his wicked ways.

Thankfully for him, they buy it.

They stamp his probation papers and send him along to the checkout process. He gets his clothes back and his wedding ring and he walks out of Azkaban a free man with four years worth of beard growth, a wrinkled tuxedo, and the realization that his life isn't what he wished it to be before he got caught this time around.

Step one: get cleaned up and find a bar.

Step two: fix the broken stuff.

Should be easy enough…


	2. London

_LONDON -_

Harry makes his way back to London and into the Pringles Bar, a rundown place for gambling and drinking, and he lays down cash to do a bit of both. The dealer, a middle aged woman who, thankfully, doesn't recognize him, shuffles the cards and places two of them in front of him.

"20," she says in a somewhat cheerful voice and he smiles slightly. She flips her own cards. "Dealer has 19."

Harry isn't paying attention anymore. He's gazing off into the distance at a pair of people who have come into his line of vision. One is an older man he's never met before, but the other is someone he knows very well.

The dealer makes a show of changing cards and emptying her hands and showing him and the rest of the bar that she has nothing up her sleeves. "Good luck. I'm going on break."

He nods and smiles and she walks away, only to be replaced by the familiar face.

"Hello, Hermione," Harry says and the woman in front of him falters just slightly, then smiles.

"I'm sorry sir, you must have me confused with someone else. My name is Natalie." She points to the nametag attached to her shirt and it does, indeed, say 'Natalie' in bright red letters.

"My mistake." He picks up his chips and makes to stand. "Table's cold anyway."

"You could try the Compton. The lounge gets real busy about one on days like this."

He smiles a little. "The Compton?"

She nods. "Yes sir."

"Thanks for the tip."

* * *

He makes his way across town to the Compton Hotel, one of the grander pieces of wizarding architecture leftover from the war a few years back, and sits in the lounge for a couple of hours. He orders lunch and revels in the real food taste that fish and chips has when it isn't served with the same flare as creamed spinach. He eats and he waits.

At about 1 o'clock, Hermione Granger sits down next to him and orders a drink.

"How do you do, Natalie," Harry says and Hermione laughs a little.

"Hermione Granger can't get a job in London to save her life. Too many people know me from the war and too many people have suspicions about my involvement in the last job we pulled together. Natalie, on the other hand, can work anywhere she wants." She takes a sip of her beer and studies him. "You look old."

"Being in prison will do that to a person."

"Have you seen him?"

The 'him' hangs in the air and neither of them feels the need to specify. Harry shakes his head. "No. Know where he is?"

Hermione shrugs. "Last I heard he was in America teaching tricks to snot-nosed rich kids." Her careful eyes rest on him once more and he wonders just what she's seeing. "What have you got in mind?"

He grins and proceeds to tell her the scheme. When he's through, she tells him to be careful and to contact her once he's settled. He heads off into the night and to a quick meeting with his parole officer.

"Auror Daniels, this is Harry Potter. I was told to check in with you after the first 24 hours."

A tinny voice comes over the Wizarding Wireless and he has to strain to make out the questions.

"No sir, I haven't been getting into trouble." Question. "No sir, I haven't been drinking." Question and this time he has a hard time not laughing. "No sir, I wouldn't even think about leaving the country."

* * *

For those of you who are weird like me and loved the soundtrack to this movie, play it along in the background. Ambiance, people. It's all about the ambiance. :) 


	3. Los Angeles I

_LOS ANGELES -_

Ron Weasley, formerly of northern England and the talk of the wizarding world, is currently posted outside a seedy nightclub in downtown Los Angeles, California, waiting for his final charge to arrive. The food in America has turned out to be decidedly better than the food in England ever was and he has a basketful of fried things in front of him that he's been munching on for close to a half hour.

"Ron, my man!" a voice shouts and he turns his head just slightly to see Topher Grace running towards him, exuberant like a puppy dog. Ron fights the urge to kick him. "Hey, have you ever thought about being incorporated. You should really look into it."

They fall into step together as they make their way into the club and towards the back room where the poker lesson that Ron has been teaching for the last three months is stationed. Ron says nothing.

"So I was talking to my manager last night…"

"Bernie?"

Topher falters a little. "What? Oh, no. My business manager. Though, come to think of it, they're both named Bernie."

Ron rolls his eyes.

"Anyway, my manager was telling me that because what we do here could be considered research for a future gig I could totally write it off on my taxes." They stop moving and Ron looks at the younger man. Topher frowns slightly. "Only, I'd have to pay you by check."

Ron says nothing, just looks at him. He doesn't have to say anything, really, as he's perfected the 'look of doom', the look that suggests that what you've just said is the stupidest thing he's ever heard and that you should probably refrain from ever saying it again.

Topher nods quickly. "Right. Cash. Got it."

They walk into the room and the table is full of big name celebrities all under the age of 30. Ron feels old and tired and bored, but they're going to pay him a hefty sum of American money and he can't fault them for that so he goes about trying to teach them the finer points of poker.

He hands the cards to Joshua Jackson. "You're up, Josh."

"Right." Josh deals out the cards in the wrong direction.

"Josh, Josh." Josh looks up. "To your right. Always to your right."

"Right. Sorry."

It goes along like this for fifteen minutes or so and by the end Ron is wondering why he ever came to LA in the first place. He could have had a nice flat in London, waited for Harry to get out and gone out and done something incredibly stupid once again.

Then again, he's kind of glad he isn't in prison so LA will do nicely for now.

They break and he winds his way out to the front of the club. He sits at the bar, orders a vodka tonic, and watches the dancers through the glass windows. Even the dancers look bored.

"How's it going back there?" the bartender asks, yelling over the music.

"Longest night of my life," Ron replies.

The bartender smiles. "What?"

Ron grins at him. "I'm running away with your wife."

The guys smiles and gives him a thumbs up, walks away.

Ron shakes his head and tries to remind himself of why he learned poker in the first place, other than to take Seamus Finnegan's money on a fairly regular basis.

He finishes his drink and heads back to the table. He can hear voices as he approaches the room and the sight that greets him upon arrival is both a blessing and a curse. He sits down in his appointed chair and allows the celebrities to explain their newest guest.

"Ron, it's okay if Mr. Potter sits in, isn't it?" Topher asks.

Ron exchanges a glance with Harry and smiles slightly. "The more the merrier."

The cards are dealt and the game begins. Somehow, the fact that Harry's just been released from prison enters into the conversation and the celebrities, with their posh existences, pause at this.

"Do you mind if I ask what you were in for?" Josh asks.

Harry straightens his cards. "Selling stolen goods."

"What were you selling?"

"Celtic pensieves," Ron says without looking up from his cards.

"Is there much money in…"

"Celtic pensieves?" Harry asks and Josh nods. "If you can move them, yes."

"Moving them is the problem, though, and you need a buyer that isn't going to run off and tell the authorities that you're trying to peddle stolen goods." Ron's explanation earns him a small glare from Harry that none of the others notice.

They move on from Harry's sordid past and play some poker. Eventually, Harry bets $500 and they all pause and look to Ron for guidance. He's holding Harry's eye and he's smiling very slightly.

"Chances are, he's bluffing. He's building the pot up so that you'll all fold your hands. You can do what you want, but I'm sticking with it. I'm going to call him." He tosses $500 worth of chips into the pot in the center of the table.

Everyone follows his lead and Josh even raises the bet to $1,000.

Harry regards them all with a blank expression and keeps his eyes on Ron. He tosses $1,000 into the pot and adds another $1,000. They all take it in for a minute and then call his bet. He lays down his cards.

"Now, I'm not too sure about the four 9's but I'm pretty confident that the Ace is high."

Ron's smile is small enough that none of the others notice. Harry takes the pot, the group breaks up, and Harry and Ron meet outside. They look at each other, nod, and take off in Ron's Cadillac. Ron can honestly say that he's never been so happy to see someone in his entire life.


	4. Los Angeles II

So this chapter has a lot more movie dialogue in it than the last few did...I wrote it while on lunch break at work so I had the script in front of me and I kind of borrowed from it. Those words belong to Ted Griffin, who did a phenomenal job turning the original Rat Pack movie into the Clooney - Pitt - Damon bonanza.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

_LOS ANGELES -_

"You look bored," Harry says as they drive out onto Sunset Strip and away from the club.

"I _am_ bored," he replies. "Did you get the cookies I sent you in the clink?"

Harry looks at him. "Why do you think I came to see you first?"

They make their way to an all-night diner and Ron orders the largest slice of cherry pie that Harry has ever seen. Even the waitress seems to be straining under the weight of it. Harry has coffee. He's never quite gotten used to apparating such far distances and it unsettles his stomach. He'll eat later, after he's slept and had a chance to regroup.

"So what are we talking?" Ron asks around a mouthful of pie.

"It's tricky. No one's ever done it before. Needs planning and a large crew." Harry says.

"Wands?"

Harry shrugs. "Only for show."

Ron takes another bite. "So what's the target?" Harry doesn't answer him immediately so he asks again. "What's the target, Harry?"

"How do you feel about Las Vegas?" Harry asks.

Ron stops chewing, swallows hard, and frowns. "What, you want to knock over a casino?" he asks.

Harry holds up his hand and raises three fingers.

"Three casinos?" Ron asks and when Harry nods he looks away for a moment. When he looks at Harry once again, there's disbelief on his face. "Please tell me you have a plan."

They go across town to an architecture firm that Harry has done business with before, long ago when his record was clean, and the security guard recognizes him, allows him access to the vault design offices. They locate the blueprints that they're looking for and Harry rolls them out on the table.

"The vault at the Bellagio."

Ron studies them for a minute.

"If I'm reading this right, and I'd like to think that I was, this has to be the least accessible vault ever built."

"Yep."

Ron frowns, looks up at him. "You said three casinos…"

Harry lifts up the first page of blueprints and points at the page underneath it. "These feed into the cages at the MGM Grand and the Mirage but every single dime ends up here."

Ron's brow furrows as he thinks about everything Harry has just said. "The Bellagio, the Mirage, the MGM Grand…these are Draco Malfoy's places."

"Yes, they are. Do you think he'll mind?"

Ron shrugs. "More than somewhat."

Harry tells him the plan, tells him that Hermione is on-board for whatever they conjure up, and explains to him that the take is 8 figures, easily. When he's finished, he asks Ron what he thinks they'll need to get the job done.

"You're looking at a dozen guys doing a combination of cons," he says as Harry rolls up the blueprints and secures them in the hard plastic tube they originally came in.

"Like what?"

"Well, off the top of my head, I'd say you're looking at a Boesky, a Jim Brown, a Miss Daisy, two Jethros, and a Leon Spinks. Oh, and not to mention the biggest Ella Fitzgerald – ever." Harry's expression of calm never waivers. "Where do you think you're going to get the Galleons to back this?"

Harry smiles slightly. "As long as we're hitting these three casinos, we'll get our bankroll. Malfoy's got a long list of enemies."

"Yes, but any enemies with a lot of loose cash and nothing to lose?" Harry's smile widens and Ron realizes where this is going. "Aha," he says with a smile.

"Aha," Harry says.

"Snape."

The night watchman finds them at this point and Harry, having known Oscar for quite awhile, asks him if they can borrow the blueprints for just a little while so they can make copies. Oscar owes him a favor or two – three to be exact – and he lets them take the plastic tube and its contents with them as they leave the firm.

Outside in the hallway, while they're waiting for the elevator, Ron turns to look at him and the expression on his face is weary. "I need a reason," he says, "and don't say money. Why do this?"

Harry shrugs. "Why not do it?"

Ron's expression becomes the "look of doom" and Harry sighs.

"Because yesterday I walked out of Azkaban wearing my entire wardrobe and you're cold decking Teen Beat cover boys." Ron's expression slips a little and Harry presses on. "Because the house always wins. You play long enough, never changing stakes, the house takes you. Unless, when that special hand comes around, you bet big. And then you take the house."

They stare at each other and, slowly, Ron's look of doom turns into an ear-to-ear grin. "You've been practicing that speech, haven't you?"

Harry's tense demeanor leaves him and he turns back to the elevator just as the doors open. "A little. Did I rush it? It felt like I rushed it…"

"No. It was good."

They step onto the elevator and as the doors close, Ron looks at Harry.

"I wonder what Snape will say."


	5. Las Vegas I

_LAS VEGAS -_

"You're out of your bloody minds!"

They're sitting outside, on a bright and sunny Nevada day, with the remnants of breakfast on the patio table before them. They arrived earlier and were – surprisingly – asked to stay for breakfast. It was just after the coffee had been poured that they broached the subject of their visit with their somewhat gracious host.

Ron was having a hard time not laughing. At some point, Snape had given into the American 70s look that everyone over 50 sported in Nevada. Aviator sunglasses, leisure suit, and his standard slicked back hair. He couldn't even compare the man before him to the prick of a Potions professor he'd been fifteen years earlier. It was as though Severus Snape had died and come back as a disco pimp.

"You're listening to me, aren't you? Both of you are close to a one-way St. Mungo's visit. I know more about casino security than any other wizard and I can honestly tell you that those three have the best in the world. We're talking cameras, watchers, locks, timers. They've got vaults that not even the greatest spells can penetrate. They've got enough armed men to occupy Paris." He frowns, waves his hand absently. "Okay, bad example."

Harry takes a sip of coffee and leans back in his chair. "It's never been tried," he says pointedly and it takes a minute for Ron to remember what Harry was like before prison.

Snape scoffs, a look of disbelief shining through the oversized Aviators. "Oh, it's been tried. A few guys even came close. You know the three most successful robberies in Las Vegas?"

They do, mostly because they've done their homework and have read the histories, but they don't want to ruin it for Snape so they shake their heads in unison.

Snape holds up one finger. "Number three, 1965. The bronze medal winner. Some paper-pusher with a serious gambling addiction decides to steal a lockbox from the floor of the Sands. He made it three steps closer to the door than anyone before him had. Poor guy was a wizard. The authorities didn't even offer to keep him in the states, they sent him to Azkaban." He frowns. "Fun, I'm sure."

He holds up another finger. "Second most successful robber. The Flamingo in '71. This wanker actually smelled fresh air before they got him. Course, he was breathing out of a tube for the next three weeks, goddamn hippie."

Ron tries really hard not to smile but to hear Snape say 'wanker' and 'hippie' in the same sentence is almost too hilarious for words.

Snape holds up one more finger. "And the closest any man has gotten to robbing a Las Vegas casino is outside of Caesar's in '81, the year you boys were born. He grabbed the box, ran off, and they shot him dead in the parking lot, right next to the valet attendant's station. He came, he grabbed, he got conquered."

Neither Ron nor Harry says anything and Snape stares at them, hard, before shrugging. "But what am I saying. You guys are pros, the best. I'm sure you can make it out of the casino. Never mind the fact that once you get out the front door you're still in the fucking desert!"

They do their best to appear chastised. "You're right," Ron says to Snape, and then turns to Harry. "He's right."

"Snape," Harry says, taking his napkin from his lap and laying it on the table, "you're right. Our eyes are bigger than our stomachs."

Ron follows his lead and places his own napkin on the table. "That's exactly it. Pure ego."

They stand at the same time and smile down at Snape. "Sorry we bothered you," Harry says and holds out his hand.

Snape takes it and shakes it, does the same with Ron's. "Look boys, we go way back. I owe you from that thing with the guy in the place and I'll never forget it."

"It was our pleasure," Harry says.

"I'd never been to Belize," Ron adds.

He waves them off, goes back to his breakfast. "Give Dominic your addresses. I've got some remaindered furniture I want to send you."

They nod and head off towards the house. They're just around the pool when Snape's voice calls out to them. "Just out of curiosity, which casinos did you geniuses pick to rob?"

Ron looks at Harry and nods. Harry looks back across the patio at Snape. "The Bellagio, the Mirage, and the MGM Grand."

Snape stands up so quickly his chair tips over. "Those are Draco Malfoy's places."

Ron again looks at Harry. "Uh-huh."

Snape crosses the patio and comes to stand a few feet away from them, his nostrils flared and anger bright even through the shade of his sunglasses. "You guys, what've you got against Draco Malfoy?"

Harry smiles slightly. "The question is, what have you got against him?"

Snape sneers a characteristically Snape sneer. "He torpedoed my casino - the one I bought after the war. He muscled me out, and now he's gonna blow it up to make way for some gaudy monstrosity. Don't think I don't see what you're doing."

"What are we doing, Snape?" Harry asks.

"If you're gonna steal from Draco Malfoy, you better goddamn know. It used to be this kind of thing was civilized. You'd hit a guy, he'd whack you, done. But Malfoy…" He whistles low. "The kid's my nephew by circumstances beyond my control so trust me when I tell you this. At the end of it he better not know you were involved, not know your names or think you're dead because he'll kill you and then he'll go to work on you."

Harry nods, as does Ron. "That's why we have to be careful. We have to be precise. We have to be well funded, especially by someone who knows the target."

Snape snorts, an unpleasant sound. "Yeah, plus you've gotta be nuts. And you're gonna need a crew that's as nuts as you are."

Neither Harry nor Ron disputes this fact and Snape takes a moment to think it over. When he looks at them once more, it's apparent by the small smirk on his face that he's in for the take.

"Who you got in mind?"

* * *

Thanks so much to my reviewers! I'm moving along and I'm determined to watch the movie again this weekend to make sure I'm on point with everything. Keep reading and reviewing - it makes me happy!!! 


	6. Santa Monica

SANTA MONICA

When Ron first moved to LA, he lived in a small, one bedroom apartment in what could only be described as a crack house. It didn't take him long to realize that if he moved 15 miles down the coast he'd be able to find a much nice place to live.

He and Harry are sitting on the balcony of his apartment, eating lunch, and watching the scantily clad women rollerblade through the park below.

'I love America,' Ron says with a smile and Harry grins a little.

'So, who's in?'

'Hermione is in,' Ron says. 'She's developed a case of bronchitis and has put in for a transfer to warmer climates. Because the casino in London is considered a sister casino of the Bellagio, she'll be able to come over without too much trouble.'

'That's a nice way to start,' Harry says with a small smile.

'I love working with Hermione,' Ron says and Harry can't stop the grin that forms on his face.

'Of course you do.'

Ron laughs lightly, eats a bite of his sandwich.

'What about drivers?' Harry asks.

'I talked to my brothers yesterday,' Ron says around a mouthful of roast beef that Harry could have done without seeing.

'The twins?' Harry asks, a little surprised.

Ron nods. 'They're in Salt Lake City, six months off some job they pulled in Glasgow. I got the sense they're having trouble filling the hours.'

'Sounds like them.' Harry picks up a French fry and takes a bite. 'Electronics?' he asks.

'Neville Longbottom.' Ron takes a sip of his water and glances out at the park below. 'Neville's been doing some freelance work for the Ministry of Magical Defense.'

Harry frowns a little. 'How are his nerves?'

'Okay.' Ron shrugs. 'Not so bad you notice.'

It's at that moment Neville walks into the park. They watch him approach Ron's apartment building. He looks a little lost, as though he's unsure of where he's going, and he isn't paying attention to his surroundings. Without really meaning to, he walks into a group of six dogs, all being walked by a woman on rollerblades. Ron laughs lightly as Neville gets tangled up in the leashes and clumsily pulls himself out of the mess.

Harry shakes his head. Same old Neville.

'Next item on the list is munitions.'

'Oliver Wood,' Harry says without a second thought.

Ron frowns. 'Dead.'

Harry's eyes go wide. 'No shit. On the job?'

'Sun cancer.'

'You send flowers?'

Ron shrugs. 'Dated his wife for awhile.'

They're both quiet for a minute or two.

'Dean?' Harry asks.

Ron frowns a second time. 'He's in town but there might be a problem with availability…'

* * *

There are many things that are capable with magic. Life achievements, medical advancements, the righting of serious wrongs. All of these are important but for some things, the Muggle approach is just a lot more fun.

Blowing up things happens to be something Dean Thomas prefers to use Muggle methods to achieve.

Currently holed up in the basement of Pacific Trust Bank on Melrose in Los Angeles, he's waiting for the last of his crew to get around the corner so he can blow the canisters surrounding the lock on the bank's massive vault door. When the last man rounds the corner, he hits the button and waits for the multiple booms to cease.

He comes into the hallway, followed by his crew, and shimmies up to the vault door, which swings inward easily with the gentle push of his hand. He smiles at the various shelves that line the vault, pirouettes just slightly, and claps his hands together.

'Lovely,' he says and takes a step into the vault.

The alarm sounds, shrill and annoying, and he loses his smile instantly. 'You tossers!' he hollers at the crew behind him. 'You had one job to do!'

It doesn't take long for the SWAT team to find them and they exit the building surrounded by large men in black vests carrying weapons. They separate Dean from his crew and put him in the back of a squad car, his hands cuffed behind his back.

There's a Bomb Squad guy kneeling next to him, trying to get information out of him.

'And that's all you used during the event? Nothing else?'

Dean throws an indignant look on his face. 'You accusing me of booby-trapping?'

'Well, how about it?'

'Booby traps aren't Mr. Thomas' style.'

They both look up to see the surprise guest. Dean smiles at Ron while the cop's back is turned.

'Isn't that right, Dean?'

Dean grins. 'That's right.'

The cop stands as Ron pulls a badge out of his trench coat and flashes it at the cop. 'Peck, Interpol. Let me venture a guess. A simple G4 mainliner, double-coil, back wound, quick fuse with a drag under 20 feet.' The cop nods in a confused manner. 'That's our man. Tell me, have you checked him for booby-traps on his person? I mean really checked, not just for weapons…'

The cop's confusion becomes tangible and Ron reaches past him to pull Dean out of the squad car. He yanks him around, pushes him face first into the back of the car, and searches him.

'Go find Griggs and tell him I need to see him,' he tells the cop.

'Who?'

'Just go find him, will ya?'

The cop mutters something about 'goddamn feds' and stocks off to find the imaginary man Ron asked for. Ron puts a series of small pieces into Dean's handcuffed hands.

'How fast can you make something out of what I just gave you?'

There's a flurry of constrained movement. 'It's done. Thirty seconds all right?'

'From when?'

There's an audible snap and Ron steps away from Dean, who deposits the device in the back seat of the empty squad car. 'Now.'

They step back from the car, careful to make sure no one's paying attention.

'Ten seconds?' Ron asks.

'Not quite. Is Harry here?'

'Around the corner.'

Dean laughs. 'Be good working with proper villains again.' He motions with his shoulders. 'Okay, go.'

Ron turns back to the chaos and shouts, as loud as humanly possible, 'Everyone down! Get down! There's a bomb in the…'

The explosion blocks out the end of his sentence and both he and Dean use the diversion as an opportunity to get the hell away from the scene.

'Oh, they weren't expecting that shit, were they?' Dean laughs as they run down the street and around the corner to where Harry's waiting for them.

* * *

Harry's never been that big a fan of circuses. There's something melancholy about each performer and, to be honest, clowns freak him out, so when Ron suggested they go watch the Chinese National Circus he was less than thrilled.

In fact, he was adamantly against it until Ron mentioned popcorn and then he gave in just a little.

They're watching the funambulists get ready for their routine. The announcer, who has a voice reminiscent of an annoying cartoon character, tells the audience that they're about to see the Amazing Chang.

'As in Cho?' Harry asks with a quick look at Ron's face.

'She'd be an asset.'

They watch her perform for a little while.

'So she can hang on a rope,' Harry says.

'More than that,' Ron assures him.

'We need a grease man, not an acrobat. Who else is on the list?'

'She _is_ the list.'

Harry watches her a moment longer, turns to Ron. 'Who else?'

Ron smiles a little. 'Just watch.'

High above the crowd, and using only her legs to support her, Cho vaults herself from one hanging rope to the other, a perfect back flip, and catches herself using only her legs. When she flips onto the stage, the crowd erupts in applause, with Harry's hands creating the loudest cacophony of sound.

'We got a grease woman,' he says to Ron.

Ron smiles. 'We got a grease woman.'

They exit the circus tent with the rest of the audience and make their way across the parking lot to Ron's Cadillac. The top is down and they climb in, wait for everyone around them to leave.

'We need Albus,' Harry says as they watch the cars leave.

'He won't come. He swore off the game a year ago.'

Harry looks at Ron with surprise. 'He got religion?'

'Ulcers.'

Harry goes back to looking at the cars. 'You could ask him.'

Ron sighs, starts up the Cadillac. 'I could ask him.'


	7. Oxford

_OXFORD_

Albus Dumbledore, formerly the greatest known wizard in all of history, retired from the limelight around the same time Harry Potter got himself thrown in Azkaban for a confidence scheme gone awry. He settled down in Oxford and started doing the things he'd always wanted to, which included anything Muggle in nature.

He bought Muggle clothing, shirts and pants that allowed him to fit in on a day to day basis.

He bought a television and he watched it occasionally when he was too bored to do anything else.

He started going to the track because his neighbor, a man named Phil, explained to him that it was a good place for retired guys like them to hang out.

Albus likes Oxford Stadium. He goes there two or three times a week and he does pretty well. Today, he's wearing a shirt that someone named Dean Martin made popular back in the 50s and he's betting on a dog Phil told him looked like a winner. He picks up his tickets and a cup of coffee and makes his way down to the paddock.

He's peeling an orange when Ron arrives next to him. He doesn't look up.

'I saw you in the paddock before the second race, outside the men's room, when I placed my bet. I saw you before you even got up this morning.'

Ron doesn't sit and Albus doesn't offer the seat next to him.

'How are you, Professor?'

'Never better.' He drops the orange peel on the concrete floor.

'What's with the orange?'

'My medi-witch tells me I need vitamins.'

There's a pause and he's tempted to look up at Ron, but he doesn't. Instead, he eats a slice of orange.

'So why don't you take vitamins?'

This time, he does look up and takes in the site of the youngest Weasley male. Ron smiles at him.

'You come here to give me a physical?'

Ron's smile widens. 'I got us box seats. Come on.'

They make their way across the track to Ron's box seats and once they're settled, the dogs line up to get ready for the race.

'Who are we rooting for here?' Ron asks, taking a bite of what Albus can only deduce is some frozen Muggle concoction he hasn't tried yet.

'Number four.'

The bell sounds, the doors open, and the dogs race onto the track, chasing the mechanical rabbit like they've never chased anything ever before. Albus' eyes never leave the race, but he keeps Ron in his peripheral.

'You gonna tell me what's going on or should I just say no now and get it over with?'

Ron smiles, takes another bite. 'Albus, you're the best there is. You're in Avalon. What do you want?'

Albus shrugs. 'Nothing. I've got a duplex now; I've got wall-to-wall and a goldfish; I'm seeing Minerva and she's working the unmentionables counter at a little shop in Diagon Alley. I've changed.'

Ron leans forward a little. 'Guys like us don't change, Albus. We stay sharp or we get sloppy but we never change.'

Albus glances over at him and frowns, says nothing. They both go back to watching the race.

'That your hound, in the back.'

Albus's frown deepens. 'He breaks late, everyone knows this.'

The dogs come around, nearing the finish line, and the entire crowd – heavy for a Wednesday – stands up and cheers. Over the noise, Albus turns to Ron and eyes him with the same expression he reserved for his students so long ago.

'You gonna treat me like a grown up at least? Tell me what the scam is?'

The noise continues and Ron leans in, whispers the figures and the idea and the eventual outcome into Albus' ears. He places an envelope in Albus' lap and stands, buttons the single button on his well tailored blazer, and heads out of the box.

Albus takes a deep breath and puts a hand to his chest. He looks at the envelope in his lap, thinks about it for a minute or two, and rips up the bet ticket. If it works out, he's not going to need to bet on the track – ever again.

* * *

_SANTA MONICA_

They're sitting in a bar, enjoying the air conditioning while Ron recuperates from his day of apparating. The bartender puts on ESPN, some American television station dedicated to sports, and a news item about the upcoming fights in Vegas drones on in the background.

'Albus makes ten,' Harry says, playing with his tumbler of whiskey. 'Ten ought to do it, don't you think?'

Ron shrugs, says nothing.

'You think we need one more?'

Another shrug.

'You think we need one more.'

This time, Ron says nothing and puts his head down on the bar.

Harry sighs, takes a sip of his whiskey.

'Alright, we'll get one more.'

* * *

Thanks for all the reviews and the alerts - I don't about y'all, but I'm having fun with it. :) Keep reading! 


	8. Chicago

For those patiently awaiting another chapter.

Life took a turn for the crazy. I'm hoping you're all still intrigued...

Thanks for the great reviews and words of encouragement!

* * *

CHICAGO

Years earlier, just before his first job and just after he'd gotten married, he'd gone into London and had taken the tube around the city. For some reason, he'd loved every minute of it. The movement, the grating sound, the bustle of people – all of it was fascinating to him.

Currently, he's standing on the L train in Chicago, headed downtown, and he's watching Colin Creevy read a book while hanging onto one of the upper rails. Colin's head is down and his Chicago Cubs ball cap is making it hard to read his face but Harry knows what he's thinking. He's biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment, and when the train lurches to the right, Colin's right hand slips into the front pocket of a businessman's trench coat and pulls out the wallet that's hidden there. The businessman doesn't feel it and when Colin apologizes for bumping into him, the guy waves it off and smiles.

Harry's been told stories about this kid and he's impressed.

The train stops and Colin gets off, followed by the businessman and Harry. In the throng of people headed to the exit, Harry bumps into Colin and pockets the wallet.

What he leaves behind is his business card: HARRY POTTER embossed in black lettering. On the back, he's written the address of a pub he's familiar with and when Colin arrives, Harry's waiting for him with a beer and the wallet Colin pocketed from the businessman.

'Hi, Colin. Sit down,' Harry says and motions at the stool across from him.

'Who are you?' he asks with an apprehension that's almost palpable.

Harry smiles. 'I'm a friend of Hugh Mitchell's. Sit down.'

Colin balks a little but eventually sits down across from Harry.

'Hugh told me about you. Said you were the best set of hands he'd ever seen.' Colin doesn't say anything but Harry knows he's listening. He takes an envelope from the pocket of his coat and sets it down on the table between them, next to the wallet. 'You're either in or you're out, right now.'

'What is it?'

'A set of directions. A job offer.'

Colin smiles slightly. 'You're pretty trusting pretty fast.'

Harry shrugs. 'Hugh has every faith in you.'

'Yeah, well, fathers are like that.'

This throws Harry off just a little. Colin senses it immediately, smirks.

'He didn't tell you?' Harry shakes his head. 'He doesn't like me trading on his name.'

'You do this job, he'll be trading on yours.'

'What if I say no?'

Harry eyes him without expression. He isn't going to say no, Harry can see it in his face, but he wants Harry to think that's he's considering it.

'Then we'll find someone else and you can go back to feeling up stockbrokers.' He turns for the check and when he turns back, the envelope is in Colin's hands and the wallet is still sitting there. Harry smiles. 'That's the best lift I've seen you make yet.'

'Vegas, huh?' Colin says with a small smile.

Harry wants to roll his eyes, but he controls the inclination. 'America's playground.'


	9. Las Vegas II

LAS VEGAS

Harry, Ron, and Hermione are waiting in the living room of Snape's mansion, discussing things both past and present, when the doorbell rings and Snape excuses himself to answer it. He opens the door to discover seven individuals standing outside, each with a different look of apprehension and excitement on their faces.

'Trick or treat,' Neville says with a small smile.

Snape eyes him wearily, then looks out at the rest of them. 'What, did you guys get a group rate or something?' he asks around the cigar in his mouth.

The seven of them follow him into the house and out to the back patio where there is a wet bar and a table full of food waiting for them. They break off into smaller groups, Harry coming out to mingle among them while Ron and Hermione stand by the food table and talk in hushed voices.

George Weasley finds himself next to Albus, who picks up an orange from the food table and pockets it.

'Do you make it out to Utah much, Albus?' George asks around a mouthful of shrimp.

Albus raises an eyebrow and smiles slightly. 'Not as much as I would like.'

George nods. 'You should. You'd like it. You'd like Provo.'

Behind him, Fred picks up a massive shrimp and frowns at it. 'Anyone seen the salsa that goes with this thing?'

Cho has Hermione entranced as she builds a house of cards on the diving board to Snape's pool, her movements so slow and steadied that the diving board isn't moving at all. Dean is mixing a drink for Neville, much to the amusement of Ron who's convinced the younger man is going to end up drunk and passed out long before he should. Colin has settled himself on the edge of a chaise lounge and is watching everything with hawk-like eyes. He's the first to see Harry move into the middle of the crowd.

Harry claps his hands together, commanding everyone's attention. 'Everyone: Welcome to Las Vegas. Everybody eaten? Good. Everybody sober? Close enough.' He smiles just slightly. 'Before we start, nobody's on the line yet. What I'm about to propose to you is both highly lucrative and highly dangerous. If that doesn't sound like your particular brand of firewhiskey, help yourself to as much food as you'd like and safe journey. No hard feelings here.' He pauses, uses his serious nature for effect, and continues when he knows everyone is still with him. 'Otherwise, come with me.'

Harry turns and walks back into the house. Gradually, the crowd follows him inside, all except for Colin who stands from the chaise lounge but makes no effort to move towards the door. Snape sees this and walks toward him, cigar still firmly attached to the side of his mouth.

'Hi,' Colin says when Snape is closer.

'You're Hugh Mitchell's kid, huh?'

Colin shrugs. 'Yeah.'

'Outta Chicago, right?'

'Yeah.'

'It's nice there. You like it?'

Colin smiles, a little off-guard. 'Yeah.'

Snape's smile is predatory, even around the cigar. 'That's wonderful. Now get in the goddamn house.'

It takes him only a moment before he moves toward the door, Snape following at a slow pace. When they both get inside the rest of the crew is sitting down, focusing on Harry who has, in the meantime, set up a 3-D image of three casinos – Malfoy's Vegas - using his wand. The casinos hover above a pool table in the center of Snape's den and the remaining ten wizards crowd around the table.

'Ladies and gentlemen, the 1400 block of Las Vegas Boulevard. Otherwise known as the Bellagio, the Mirage, and the MGM Grand. Together, they're the three most profitable casinos in Las Vegas.' Harry's wrist flicks slightly and the top layer of the casinos is removed, revealing an underlying structure of connecting tunnels and one main vault. 'This is the Bellagio vault. Located beneath the strip and two hundred feet of solid earth, it safeguards every dime that comes through each of the three casinos above it.'

He has them hooked, he can see it in their faces. Even Ron looks amazed. He smiles a little at his audience.

'We're going to rob it.'

A collective gulp of air is taken in by everyone in the room. Colin takes the swizzle stick he's been chewing on for the last ten minutes out of his mouth and smirks slightly.

'A smash-and-grab job, then?' he asks.

Ron looks at him, his expression blank. 'It's a little more complicated than that.'

Colin's smirk disappears. 'Well, yeah.'

Harry ignores the commentary and with a second flick of his wrist, the image changes to what appears to be security camera footage of a casino floor.

'Courtesy of Hermione Granger, new blackjack dealer at the Bellagio, security footage of the casino floor, the tunnel to the vault, and, eventually, the vault itself. The faces in front of him say it all – they're in and they're in for a killing, monetarily speaking, of course.

'Okay. Bad news first. This place houses a security system that rivals most dark wizard's wards. First, we have to get into the casino cages.'

'Here, here, and here,' Ron explains, motioning at the floating image of the casino vault with his own wand.

'Which everyone here knows will take more than a smile. Next: through these doors, each of which requires a different six-digit code changed every twelve hours. Past those lies the elevator, and this is where it gets tricky: the elevator won't move without authorized fingerprint identifications…'

'Which we can't fake,' Ron explains with a frown.

'…and vocal confirmations from both the security center within the Bellagio and the vault below…'

'Which we won't get because those are also protected by wards.'

Harry smiles slightly. 'Furthermore, the elevator shaft is rigged with motion detectors and apparition wards…'

'Meaning if we manually override the lift, the shaft's exit will lock down immediately and we'll be trapped.' Even Ron is smiling.

'Once we've gotten down the shaft, though, then it's a walk in the park: just three more guards with Uzis and dark wands and predilections toward not being robbed, and the most elaborate vault door conceived by man. Any questions?'

The silence is deafening.

Harry wonders, for just a moment, if this isn't going to work. Then, out of left field, Cho raises her hand and begins to question them in Cantonese. He isn't sure when she started speaking Cantonese, or, for that matter, when she stopped speaking English, but he does know that he hasn't a clue as to what she's saying.

Ron, on the other hand, seems to understand her completely.

'No,' he says in response to what Harry can only guess is an elaborate question regarding their sanity. 'Tunneling is out. There are Richter Scales – they measure vibrations in the Earth – monitoring the ground for 100 meters around the vault on all sides. If a groundhog tried to nest there, they'd know about it. Anyone else?'

Again, silence. Dean is staring at Ron with something akin to newfound respect and Hermione is staring at Cho with an expression Harry can't quite place, but it reminds him of how she often stares at puzzles before breaking them.

'You said something about good news?' Fred asks.

Harry smiles, glad someone finally asked.

'The Nevada Gaming Commission stipulates: a casino must hold in reserve enough cash to cover every chip at play on its floor. As I mentioned, this vault services each of the three casinos above it. That means: during the week, by law, it must hold anywhere from sixty to seventy million dollars in cash and coin. On a weekend, between eighty and ninety million. On a fight night, like the one two weeks from tonight, the night we're going to rob it, at least a hundred and fifty million. Without breaking a sweat.' All eyes are on him and he can see the dollar signs light up in them. 'Now, there are eleven of us. Each with an equal share. You do the math.'

They do, in their heads, except for George who uses his long, spindly fingers to count off the division. When he settles on the number, he whistles.

'That's exactly what I said, mate,' Ron says with a smile.

'I have a question,' Albus says from the back of the room. Harry turns toward him and nods. 'Say we do get into the cage and through the security doors, there, and down the elevator we can't move and past the guards with guns and dark wands, and into the vault we can't open…'

'Without being seen by the cameras,' Ron adds.

This elicits a few gasps and grumbles, most notably from Dean who already seems put out because he can't see where he'll be needed. Harry smiles.

'Sorry. I forgot to mention the cameras.'

Albus looks at him over his horn-rimmed glasses and frowns. 'Say we do all that. We're just supposed to walk out of there with a hundred million dollars in cash on us without getting stopped?'

Harry's grin is a throwback to the days when he and Ron and Hermione ran through the halls of Hogwarts with golden halos. Albus has seen that grin, has seen the havoc it can cause, and he instinctively reaches for his roll of antacids in his pocket.

'Yeah.'

'Oh,' he says and pops a couple of the round tablets into his mouth.

'Alright. Here's how we'll begin…'


	10. The Strip I

THE STRIP, LAS VEGAS

PART ONE

The first thing they need to do is reconnaissance. They need to know as much as possible about the workings of each casino. That includes an inside knowledge of the rotation schedule for the dealers and the path of every cash cart used to usher chips on and off the floor.

For this, Harry puts Colin in The Bellagio and tells him to pay attention to absolutely everything, no matter how miniscule a detail it may seem at the time.

Hermione takes her post at the blackjack tables with an eagerness Harry and Ron haven't seen in her since Hogwarts. She's pleasant and involved in her role as Natalie and Harry doesn't miss the keen glances Ron sends her way when she isn't looking.

They need to know everything about every watcher, bouncer, security guard, and anyone else in possession of an identification card. Harry wants to know their names, where they're from, who they're seeing on the side, how they take their coffee in the morning. Absolutely everything. Hermione does what she does best and she observes during her lunch hour. She takes notes on a crossword puzzle and they give Harry and Ron a bit of insight into whose security pass they should steal.

There's a door in The Bellagio that's constantly watched by two security guards. No one goes in without an identification card and every cash cart that enters is inspected. It's like security at Gringotts, something the Twins explain in detail when they check in with Harry and Ron.

They also need to figure out the power situation. This is Dean's forte – on the night of the robbery, their plan is to flip a switch and shut down Sin City for a short period of time, long enough for them to get inside the vault. Dean works his way down a manhole in the middle of the strip and does some reconnaissance of his own.

Neville's expertise is surveillance. They need to somehow work their way into the security system of The Bellagio and with a few well placed spells and wires, they should be able to do just that…so long as Neville can get into the server room and work his magic.

'Well,' Neville says after staring at the blueprints for a few moments, 'it isn't the least accessible systems I've ever seen, but it's close. I don't suppose they have a closed circuit feed I can tap into with some transfiguration spells?'

Harry shakes his head. 'No such luck.'

Neville frowns. 'Then it's definitely going to be a black bag job.' He considers it a moment longer. 'How about in-house wizards?'

Ron's grin is almost feral. 'Two…and one of them is lonely…'

* * *

The Pussy Cat is a fairly well known strip club just left of the Vegas Strip and the lonely wizard Ron mentioned makes his way there two or three times a week to stare at a stripper named Charmaine. Tonight, while Charmaine dances and keeps him occupied with other thoughts, her hands roam and steal away the lonely wizard's identification badge. She kisses his forehead.

'I'll be right back, honey. Don't move a muscle.'

The lonely wizard leers in a drunken way. 'Depends on the muscle…'

Charmaine keeps her disgust to herself and makes her way out the back to where Ron is waiting for her, leaning against the driver's side door of his Cadillac. There's a bundle of balloons filling the backseat and she has the grace not to ask why.

'Thanks, Charmaine,' he says as he takes the ID badge and trades her a C-note for it. 'I'll have it back within an hour.' He opens the door, starts to get in. 'Oh, and tell your mom I said hello.'

Charmaine shrugs. 'Tell her yourself. She'll be onstage in five minutes.'

Ron considers this option as he watches Charmaine go back inside. It's tempting, but duty calls.

* * *

George looks absolutely ridiculous dressed in a cowboy outfit, complete with a fake mustache and a slight glamour to hide the fact he looks exactly like the 'tourist' he's about to pick a fight with, and he's carrying the balloons from Ron's car, but he feels vindicated by the fact that Fred looks equally ridiculous dressed in a 70s leisure suit and aviator sunglasses. It's all part of the fun, really.

He makes his way through the casino until he's close to the door they need to get through. Once there, Fred appears out of the mayhem of the slot machines, bumps into him, and George lets the balloons go. They rise up to the ceiling and cover the hidden camera.

'Hey, watch it _bud_,' Fred says and pushes George for good measure.

The security monitor clouds over with balloons and a security officer says, '433, we have visual impairment on the east door camera.'

The guard standing outside said door, number 433 himself, hears this and looks up to see the balloons. He approaches George.

'Excuse me sir, but you're going to have to move those balloons.'

George ignores him, suddenly – and very convincingly – engaged in an argument with Fred, the tourist.

'Who you callin' bud, _pal_?' George asks and pokes Fred in the chest.

Fred puffs up his chest and takes a step closer. 'Who you callin' pal, _friend_?'

George also takes a step closer. 'Who you callin' friend…' _Where's a thesaurus when you need one?_ '_bud_?'

The guard attempts to break it up before the Twins get out of control and while he's engaged in the argument, Neville takes the presented opportunity to slip inside the east door using the stolen ID card.

Now, it was Ron's hope that Neville could remember the directions to the server room without having to write them down but as he and Harry wait for their little spy to work his way down one hallway and another, they come to conclusion that drawing Neville a map might have been a risk worth taking.

Finally, after what seems like eons, Neville reaches the server room and sets about the easy – for Neville – task of transfiguring wires. It takes only a couple of minutes, but when he's finished, the monitors in Harry's hotel room are up and broadcasting.

'Why do they always insist on painting hallways that color?' Harry asks.

Ron shrugs. 'They say taupe is very soothing.'

The Twins are still 'helping' with the necessary diversion outside the door. They're nose to nose and the guard is looking more and more harassed with each word that comes out of their mouths.

'Ever heard of a sense of direction?' George asks, annoyed.

Fred laughs at him. 'Whatever, balloon boy.' He laughs a little harder. 'You're a balloon boy – _balloon boy_.'

The guard attempts to pull them apart. 'Boys…'

Neville gathers up his Muggle tools and his wand and stuffs everything into his pockets. He wipes his forehead and leaves the server room. The boys watch him from the hotel room. He looks left…he looks right…he heads in the wrong direction.

'Uh-oh,' Harry says.

Neville has forgotten which way is out – not a good scenario for either him or the other 10 players. He makes a wrong turn, backtracks, turns the right way. He can see the door and relief – visible even to Ron and Harry – washes over him.

At least until he spots a guard walking towards him, at which point he's once again a barrel of nerves.

'Hiya,' the guard says and Neville nods, looks straight ahead.

'Fine, thanks,' he says.

He thinks he's in the clear…and then the guard calls out to him. 'Hey…'

Outside the door, George grabs his balloons and apologizes to the guard. Fred tries to grab some of them and he swats his brother's hand away.

'Get your own balloons, you…animal,' he says and walks away.

Neville's almost on a dead run to the exit, but the guard is coming up behind him. He uses the ID card but it doesn't work.

'Hey!' the guard yells.

He tries the other side and the light flashes to green. He goes to open the door, but the guard catches up to him and blocks him with a well placed giant arm.

'You forgot this,' he says and Neville's knees almost give out on him.

It's a little monitor, one he uses to see inside the wires. He takes it, smiles serenely at the guard. 'Thanks.'

'How's the reception on that thing?' the guard asks, thinking it's a portable tv.

Neville's smile widens slightly, to the point of almost hysterical. 'The best.' He pushes open the door and escapes into the casino.

Harry and Ron each breathe a deep sigh of relief.

'Well…' Harry says.

'Yeah…' Ron counters.

Harry grins. 'Fourth task – construction.'


	11. The Strip II

I know, it's been awhile. I apologize! Thanks to everyone who's been waiting patiently for an update - I hope it doesn't disappoint.

THE STRIP, PART TWO - CONSTRUCTION

Over the course of a couple of days, they haul construction materials into a warehouse Harry and Ron procured via a favor that was owed to them by a very grateful man they'd gotten out of trouble a few years earlier. The men have breakfast each morning and Harry continues to explain his plan to his best friend.

'We need to build an exact, working replica of the Bellagio vault,' he says, his mouth full of eggs and toast.

'For practice,' Ron clarifies and Harry smiles slightly.

'Something like that.'

On the second day, Harry pulls Colin aside and helps him set down the stack of lumber the younger man brought in from the truck outside.

'Fifth task: intelligence. We need those codes, Colin. From the only man who has all three.'

'Malfoy,' Colin says and Harry pretends he doesn't hear the hesitation in the young man's voice.

'Learn to love his shadow,' Harry says and pats him on the back before turning back to the other nine people working like ants to build the vault. 'Sixth task: transportation…'

'Wait, wait, wait,' Colin says, interrupting Harry. 'All I get to do is watch him?'

Harry nods, patient as ever. 'For now. You gotta walk before you can crawl.'

Ron grins at Colin. 'Reverse that,' he says, correcting Harry.

Colin nods and Harry turns back towards the assembled team. 'As I was saying. Sixth task: transportation…'

* * *

There are days when Hermione hates the Weasley twins…and then there are days where their penchant for mischief and mayhem comes in handy.

'Well hello there, little lady,' the salesman says as she comes inside. He glances over her shoulder to where she left Fred and George jumping on the bumper of a passenger van.

'How much for those two passenger vans out there?' she asks, a glamour covering the British accent her voice has always had with a much more twangy version of a southern belle.

He's paying little attention to her, which could work in her favor if things get out of hand with the mischief twins outside. They're who he's really focusing on as he quotes her 18,500 for each van.

'Can't you go a little lower?' she asks.

'I'm sorry, darlin', but eighteen-five each is the best offer I can make you.'

She pours on the charm.

'Oh that's alright. I understand perfectly. They are beautiful vans. Well, I thank you for your time, Mister…'

He smiles at her, his attention divided between her and the twins outside.

'Denham. Billy Tim Denham.'

'Yes, Denham, like the jean.' She takes his hand in hers, rubs her thumb along the back of it. 'You know, you have lovely hands. Do you moisturize?'

Hermione wants to make the situation as awkward as possible. She wants him to lower the price just so she'll leave and take the twins with her.

'I swear by it. I try all sorts of lotions. I went through a fragrance-free period last year, but now I like this new brand fortified with rose hip. My sister, you know, she uses the Aloe Vera with the sun screen built in...'

Mr. Denham is getting more and more uncomfortable with the conversation – he's literally trying to break free of her grasp but if there was anything Hermione learned during the war it was how to build up her hand strength so as to keep hold of her wand. She won't let him go and he's beginning to panic. She can see it in his eyes.

'Uh-huh.' He's still watching the twins. 'You said you'd be willing to pay in cash?'

Hermione nods, smiles, and tightens her grip. 'I did. You know: they say cinnamon is wonderful for your pores. And ideally we should all be wearing gloves to bed, but I find that interferes with my social agenda. Problem is: I get a reaction to camphor so I can't use traditional remedies...'

Denham is practically red now. Hermione would feel sorry for him if it wasn't amusing her so greatly.

'If you could pay cash, I could probably drop the price a little. To, say, seventeen…' Hermione squeezes his hand a little and he emits a slight squeak, '…sixteen each.

Hermione lets go of his hand and smiles widely, pours on the charm once again.

'Why, that would be lovely…'

* * *

Harry watches the tailor pin a pair of dark gray pinstripe trousers to Albus' measurements. Beside him on the couch is Snape, a gin and tonic in one hand and a chewed on cigar in the other. They've been at the tailor's for almost an hour and while Harry doesn't want to rush Ablus, he'd also like to get back to the hotel before midnight.

'This is nice material,' Albus says, smoothing his hand along the sleeve of the blazer.

'It's Armani, Albus,' Harry says with a small smile.

'It's nice.'

Harry has known Albus long enough and they've been through enough to know when the old wizard is scared and right now, staring at his reflection in the tailor's mirror, Albus Dumbledore is terrified. Harry stands and asks the tailor for a minute. The man disappears and leaves Harry, Ablus, and Snape alone in the fitting room.

'Albus, are you sure you're ready to do this?' Harry asks, his voice low.

Albus turns away for a minute and when he turns back to Harry, his blue eyes have gone icy and there's a stony expression on his usually warm face.

'If you ever question me again, Harry, you will not wake up the following morning.'

They stare at each other for a moment longer before Harry breaks eye contact and nods to Snape. 'He's ready,' he says.

Albus looks into the mirror once more. They shaved off his beard and cut his hair earlier in the day and the man who had taught most of the wizards in the world was practically unrecognizable. With Harry and Snape paying for the suit, Albus clears his throat and affects an eastern European accent.

'My name is Zerga. Lyman Zerga…'

* * *

It's just before two in the afternoon when Ron sits down beside Colin at the slot machines and starts to insert quarters.

'So tell me about Malfoy,' he says to the younger man.

Colin chuckles slightly. 'The guy is a machine…He arrives at the Bellagio at 2 p.m. every day. Same Town Car, same driver. Remembers every valet's name on the way in – not bad for a guy worth three-quarters of a billion dollars.'

Almost on cue, Draco Malfoy, perfectly coifed and dressed to impress, walks through the front doors of the casino, not far from where Ron and Colin are seated. They wait for him to pass before getting up and following at a distance.

'The offices are upstairs. He works hard, hits the lobby floor at seven on the nose.'

They lose sight of Malfoy for a few hours, but he reappears on the balcony above them right at seven o'clock and a taller man, dressed in a grey suit that doesn't fit over his biceps too well, approaches him.

'He spends three minutes on the floor with his casino manager,' Colin says as they watch the two men.

'What do they talk about?' Ron asks.

'All business. Malfoy likes to know what's going on in his casinos. There's rarely an incident he doesn't know about or doesn't handle personally.'

They watch the blond-haired man make his way through the casino floor. He stops and talks to people, knows names, mentions events. They watch him chat up Lyman Zerga and Ron grins at Albus' ability to handle himself so well in an unfamiliar suit and unfamiliar situation.

'He spends a few minutes gladhanding the high rollers. He's fluent in Spanish, German and Italian and he's taking lessons in Japanese. He's getting pretty good at it. He's out by seven-thirty when an assistant hands him a black portfolio. Contents: the day's take and new security codes. Then he heads to the restaurant.'

They wait by the restaurant for him, obscured slightly by a potted plant and a quickly muttered veil that Colin throws up just in case. When Malfoy doesn't appear immediately, Ron looks over at Colin.

'Give him another 10 seconds,' he says and Ron nods.

Sure enough, within ten seconds Malfoy appears at the restaurant and heads inside.

'As I said: a machine.'

'And that portfolio contains all the security codes to the cages downstairs?'

Colin nods. 'Two minutes after they've been changed, he has them in hand.' Colin drops the veil and they begin to walk away from the restaurant. 'I'll tell you: you guys picked a helluva target. He is as smart and ruthless as they come. The last guy caught cheating here, Benedict not only sent him up for ten years, he got the bank to seize the guy's home and bankrupted…'

'His brother-in-law's tractor dealership,' Ron finishes for him and Colin nods, wide-eyed. 'I heard about it.'

'He doesn't just go after your knees, he goes after your livelihood and anyone-you-ever-met's livelihood…'

Ron frowns at him. 'You scared?'

Colin frowns back. 'You suicidal?'

'Only in the morning,' he says and flashes the grin that often got him into trouble in school. 'Now what?'

Colin grins. 'Now comes my favorite part of the day.'

They stand at the bottom of the grand staircase, Ron with an oversized shrimp cocktail in his hand and Colin with his hands shoved into his pockets, and watch as a beautiful red-haired – and painfully familiar – woman walks down the stairs towards them. Ron turns his back as she gets within sight distance and waits for her to walk past.

'She works in the museum upstairs. She's the curator.' Colin watches on, oblivious to Ron's discomfort. 'I don't know if we can use her yet. I haven't figured out her name.'

'Ginny,' Ron says, his voice tight.

'What?' Colin asks, finally taking his eyes off the woman's retreating backside.

Ron tosses away the remainder of his shrimp cocktail. 'Her name is Ginny.'


	12. The Bellagio I

SPLITTING GINNY...OR HAIRS...WHICHEVER

Harry can tell Ron's angry even before he enters the warehouse. A crackle of magical energy precedes him and without saying anything to the others, he meets Ron at the door.

'You and I need to talk,' Ron says and his voice is so serious and low that Harry doesn't even think twice about arguing. Instead, he nods his head and they walk outside, out of earshot of the others.

'What is it?' Harry asks, attempting to remain calm in the face of Ron's red cheeks.

'Tell me this isn't about her. Tell me or I'll walk off the job right now.'

Harry plays dumb, though he knows exactly what Ron is talking about. It's the secret part of it, the part he didn't have the heart to tell his former brother-in-law. He makes his face blank and Ron seethes.

'Ginny. She's with Draco Malfoy now. Tell me this isn't about screwing the guy who's screwing your wife.'

'Ex-wife,' Harry says with a sigh.

Ron's hackles rise and the energy in the air intensifies. 'Tell me,' he says and his voice is even lower still, even more dangerous.

Harry hangs his head. 'It isn't about that,' he says and Ron visibly relaxes. 'Entirely.'

Ron stares at him, a mixture of anger and disbelief on his freckled face. Harry tries to ride it out, tries to get past that anger and disbelief, but they've been friends for a long time and he can't hold the weight of it.

'You told me you needed a reason,' he says, almost pleadingly, and Ron nods for him to continue. 'Well, this is mine.'

'Harry…'

'Ron, when we started in this business, we had three rules: We weren't gonna hurt anybody; we weren't gonna steal from anybody who didn't have it coming; and we were gonna play the game like we had nothing to lose. Well I lost something. Someone. That's why I'm here.'

Ron stares at him a moment later and Harry can see the comprehension on his face, knows that Ron understands the hell he went through when he lost Ginny the first time. He just hopes that his best friend will help him get her back.

'Here's the problem, Harry: we're stealing two things now and when push comes to shove, if you can't have them both, which are you gonna choose? Because Ginny doesn't divide eleven ways.'

Harry knows he can't, has known it since the beginning, which is why he figured it into the plan.

'If things go to plan, I won't be the one making that choice.'

They stare at each other a beat or two longer, before Rod nods his agreement and the tension in the air dissipates. Harry looks off into the Nevada desert.

'How'd she look, by the way? Ginny…' he asks.

Ron frowns. 'I've seen her happier.'

* * *

They've been waiting for this painting for weeks now. Ginny was only recently able to convince the seller to fly in from Montreal with the canvas and now, staring at it with her most critical eye, she really can't understand the appeal of it – or, for that matter, why Draco was so enamored with it from the start.

'You like it?' she asks from his right side, just enough out of the way so he can stand and enjoy it on his own without her interference.

He turns and smiles at her. 'I like that you like it.'

Honestly, she doesn't, but if that's what he needs to tell himself…

'Are we on for dinner this evening?' she asks and he nods.

'I'll see you tonight,' he says.

She leans in to kiss him and he recoils ever so slightly, his eyes wandering up to the security cameras focused on them and the gallery.

'We're alone, Draco,' she says with a slight hint of annoyance.

He points to the cameras and she looks up at them with a frown. 'In my hotels, someone is always watching,' he says and kisses her cheek instead. 'I'll see you tonight.'

She watches him go and not for the first time wonders why in Merlin's name she ever started dating him in the first place.

* * *

The high rollers room at the Bellagio is grand, with high ceilings, lush carpeting, and gold everywhere. Seated at small table near the door is Albus in his roll as Lyman Zerga. Next to him is an older man who appears to be as annoying as his betting tactics.

Albus takes a deep breath and pops another Rolaids. He's getting too old for this stuff.

'Weak stomach, Mr. Zerga?' the man next to him asks and Albus wonders what would happen if he pulled out his wand and turned the man into a toad.

'I don't believe in weakness. It costs too much.' He throws down 3,000 on his current bet. 'I don't believe in questions, either.'

The old man shuts his mouth and plays silently. Albus isn't too engrossed in the game, which makes it easy for him to spot Malfoy when the younger man enters the room. Malfoy approaches his pit boss and Albus trains his invisible extendable ear (a gift from the Weasleys) towards the two men.

'Eddie. Anything for me?' he asks.

'Mr. Zerga, sir,' Eddie says and nods in Albus' direction. 'In the third position. Wishes to speak with you privately.'

'Who is he?' Malfoy asks, definitely curious.

Some things never change, Albus thinks to himself.

'Businessman of some kind, working mostly in Europe. He's very vague, but I asked around. Word is, he deals primarily in arms. One of the biggest.'

Albus wonders why anyone would be an arms dealer. He thinks that legs would be a hotter commodity in the world market these days.

'Zerga?' Malfoy asks and Eddie nods. 'Never heard of him.'

'Yessir. That's why I don't doubt it.'

'He's staying here?'

'He checked in two nights ago and is staying in the Mirador Suite.'

Malfoy's eyes are boring holes into the back of Albus' head, but he refuses to turn around.

'How's he doing?'

'Up. Almost forty grand.'

He can almost sense the sneer on Malfoy's face. 'How nice for him.'

* * *

Ginny checks her watch and wonders again where Draco is. Almost on cue, a pair of heavy hands fall on her shoulders and squeeze and she turns with a smile, saying 'You're thirty seconds late. I was about to send out a search party…'

When she recognizes the hands on her shoulders, she tenses immediately.

'Harry…' she says.

Harry grins from his standing position. 'Hello, Ginny.'

She honestly can't decide if she's happy to see him, horrified to see him, or some strange combination of the two.

'What are you doing here?'

'I'm out,' he says as he comes around to the side of the table.

'You're out.'

'Of prison,' he clarifies. 'You remember. The day I went out for fags and never came back. You must have noticed.'

She smiles a little too bitterly for his taste. 'I don't smoke,' she says and he begins to sit down. 'Don't sit -'

He does anyway. 'They said I'd paid my debt to society.'

The brittle smile doesn't leave. 'Funny. I never got a check.'

Harry smiles at her and she throws as much hatred into her stare as she can.

'You can't stay,' she says.

'It's good to see you,' he says at the same time.

They stare at each other a moment longer before Harry's eyes wander down to her hands – her left hand, to be specific. There's something missing.

'You're not wearing your ring,' he says.

She looks down at her hand, a little surprised. 'I sold it,' she says. 'And I don't have a husband. Or didn't you get those papers I sent you?'

He smiles slightly. 'My last day inside.'

'I told you I'd write.'

He reaches for her left hand – the ringless one – and she notices that his still bears his wedding ring, a silver claddagh band that once meant something to the both of them. She pulls her hands out of his reach, drops them down to her lap.

'Harry. Go. Now. Before…'

'Malfoy?'

She freezes slightly – she didn't think that he knew. He smiles at her to reassure her before catching the attention of a passing waiter.

'Whiskey,' he holds his fingers two inches apart, 'and whiskey,' holds them an inch apart. The waiter scurries off to fill the order. He turns to Ginny again. 'You're doing a great job curating the museum.'

She sighs, exasperated, and leans back in her chair, away from him.

'The Vermeer is quite good, simple but vibrant. Although, his work definitely fell off as he got older.'

Ginny smiles a little. 'Remind you of anyone?'

'And I still get Monet and Manet confused,' he continues, ignoring her interruption. 'Which one married his mistress?'

'Monet.'

'Right. Manet had syphilis.'

Her sardonic frown isn't lost on him – he just chooses to ignore it.

'They also painted occasionally,' she says.

He stares at her with a smile. 'You don't know how many times I played this conversation out in my head over the last few years.'

'Did it always go this poorly?' she asks with a small smile.

'Yes.'

'Sounds frustrating.'

'You were never easy,' he says with grin and she shrugs. 'Look, Ginny, I came here for you. I am going to get on with my life and I want you with me.'

'You're a thief and a liar,' she says.

'Yes, but I only ever lied about being a thief.' He smiles once more and she hates that his smile is so wonderful, so warm and inviting. 'I don't do that anymore.'

'Steal?' she asks.

'Lie.'

She sighs. 'I'm with someone now who doesn't have to make that kind of distinction.'

Harry leans back in his chair and nods. 'Yes, he's quite clear on both.'

'Nice,' she says with a frown. 'Work on that for two years?'

'Year and a half.'

The light smile she gives him is genuine.

'Do you know what your problem is, Harry?'

'I have only one?'

She ignores him. 'You've met too many people like you.' She fiddles with the napkin in her lap and refuses to look at him. 'I'm with Draco now.'

He regards her with serious eyes, studies her, and she squirms a little under his gaze.

'Does he make you happy?' he asks.

She looks up at him and locks his eyes with hers.

'He doesn't make me cry.'


	13. The Bellagio II

A long overdue chapter. I'm so sorry!! I hope it was worth the wait and, should my schedule ever cure itself of its schizophrenic tendencies, I'll start publishing again on a regular basis. :)

Thanks for reading!

The story belongs to Ted Griffin, who wrote the screenplay for Ocean's Eleven and the characters belong to JK Rowling. Please don't sue me!

* * *

OF HIGH ROLLERS AND EX-HUSBANDS

Albus has always been a fan of blackjack. He learned it in his youth and thanks to a little magic over the years has perfected his ability to not only count cards but manage to look completely innocent while doing it.

Which is why he places a monumental bet when the dealer, a straight-haired Hermione Granger, places a ten and a five in front of him. Well, that and Malfoy is off in the corner watching him and some high rolling schmuck is sitting next to him, chattering in his ear like a monkey.

'You don't want to get in the hole too heavy to this Malfoy. A friend of mine once borrowed a hundred g's from the guy. Two months went by, Malfoy hadn't heard from him, he calls my friend up, asks "Where's my money?" "I'll get to it when I get to it," my friend says. Half hour later Malfoy's in my friend's hotel room, dangling him off his 10th floor balcony by his feet. "You gonna get to it now?"'

Hermione nods to Albus, turns over his card and the high roller's. The high roller's card is a nine and Albus, just like he knew he would, gets a six.

'Mr. Zerga wins – twenty-one.'

Malfoy steps forward and the high roller turns to wave at him. Albus keeps his eyes forward, focused on the cards and Hermione.

'Hiya, Draco,' the high roller says and Malfoy smiles very slightly.

'Mr. Weintraub,' Draco says without a trace of the whine he always had as a young boy. 'How's everything?'

Weintraub shrugs. 'Eh, they put too much grenadine in my Shirley Temple.'

The small smile remains. 'And here I always thought you were a vodka man.' Draco turns very slightly towards Albus. 'Mr. Zerga.'

He looks up, feigns surprise.

'Mr. Malfoy. I recognize you from TV.' He smiles a little, thickens his accent. 'You know, nine times out of ten, owner of casino comes up in the middle of the hand to ask me what I want. I respect you waiting.'

'You're the guest, sir.'

He's intrigued, Albus can see it in his green eyes.

'And I have to impose on your hospitality a little more.' He motions to the empty chair beside him. 'Can you sit in for a hand?'

Malfoy smiles widely. 'I'd love to, but the Nevada Gaming Commission would feed me to my white tigers if I did.'

Albus frowns. 'That's a shame. The king of Vegas and you have to play craps in the alley.'

Malfoy's smile stays put and Albus wishes he had smiled more as a boy.

'No shame at all. Reminds me of my youth.'

Albus stands and motions for Malfoy to follow him. The two walk away from the blackjack table and towards the bar.

'The fight is Saturday, is it not?' Albus asks when they're out of earshot of the high roller.

'Yes,' Malfoy says. 'I can get you seats if you like…'

Albus shakes his head. 'No, no. Hand-to-hand combat doesn't interest me.' This is a bold face lie and a difficult one at that – he has almost a grand riding on the fight back home and he's secretly hoping it and the heist plan out. 'I have a package arriving here Saturday evening. A black briefcase, standard size, the contents of which are very valuable to me.'

Malfoy nods. 'I'd be happy to put it in the house safe for you.'

Albus frowns. 'The house safe is for brandy and grandmother's pearls. I'm afraid I need something more secure.'

Malfoy laughs at this, a short laugh that suggests he knows something that Albus doesn't know – possibly that all the safes in the Bellagio are magically enhanced. 'I can assure you, the house safe is utterly…'

His voice trails off as he locks eyes with Albus. Having fought his fair share of baddies over the years, Albus Dumbledore had perfected the Look of Steel, a look so hard and unyielding that it can incite terror in the recipient. This is what Draco discovers when he looks into Albus' eyes and whatever placating statements he had ready for his guest die on his tongue.

'I can assure you, Mr. Malfoy, your generosity in this matter will not go overlooked. Now: what can you offer me besides the house safe?'

* * *

Ginny is beyond angry and Harry probably should have planned for that, considering the way he left things back in London five years ago. Instead, he's getting little sparks thrown at him under the table and he's going to be lucky if his pants don't look like Swiss cheese by the time he leaves.

On the plus side, he's thrilled to see she's learned wandless magic since the last time he saw her.

'See, the kind of people you steal from, they have insurance to compensate them. They get made whole again.' Another spark hits him in the knee and he grits his teeth. 'I had to leave London to get away from what happened. How do I get my five years back, Harry?'

Harry sighs and the sparks stop.

'You can't. But what you can do is not throw away another five years.'

Ginny frowns. 'You don't know anything -'

Harry leans in so only she can hear him.

'Listen. You don't love me anymore, you want to make a life with someone else. Fine, I'll live with that. But not him.'

'Spoken like a true ex-husband,' she says with a small smile.

Harry steels his eyes. 'I'm not joking, Ginny.'

'I'm not laughing, Harry.' They stare at each other for a moment or two. She's the first to look away. 'You have to admit there's a conflict of interest when you give me advice on my love life.'

He takes a deep breath, exhales. 'Yes, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong.'

She stares at him, really stares at him, and it's his turn to feel scrutinized. She moves her gaze from his face to the wedding band around his ring finger and he knows he isn't imagining the wistful expression on her face.

'Do you remember what I said to you when we met again, after the war?'

Harry smiles at the memory. It was pouring rain in London's East End and they literally ran into each other outside the Leaky Cauldron.

'You said: you better know what you're doing.'

'Do you? Now? Because, truly, you should walk out the door if you don't.'

There isn't an ounce of sarcasm in her voice.

'I know what I'm doing,' he says and he means it.

'What _are_ you doing?' Malfoy asks and it startles Harry – and Ginny, for that matter. They both look up at the newcomer and he smiles slightly at them.

'Catching up,' Harry says.

'Draco, you remember my ex-husband…'

'Hiya, Malfoy,' Harry says with an extended hand.

Draco eyes it for a moment, but eventually accepts it. 'Potter.' He turns to Ginny. 'Forgive me for being late. A guest required my attention.'

Ginny flushes a little. 'Harry was just walking through the restaurant and spotted me.'

Malfoy looks at them both, though his gaze lingers a little longer on Harry than the wizard would like. 'Is that so?'

'I was shocked myself,' Harry says. 'Imagine the odds.'

'Of all the gin joints in all the world.' Malfoy quoting 'Casablanca' is almost too much for Harry. 'You've been in Azkaban until recently, is that right? How does it feel to be out?'

'About the same. Everything you want is still on the other side.' He says it to Malfoy but he's looking at Ginny.

'There's the human condition for you,' Draco says, still managing a calm and even voice though Harry is 100 percent sure he's raging on the inside.

'Draco, Harry was just about to -'

'I just wanted to say hello. For old time's sake,' Harry says, standing.

'Stay for a drink,' Draco offers.

'He can't,' Ginny says at the exact same moment Harry says, 'I can't.'

There's an awkward silence and Draco takes Ginny's hand in his.

'Well, then, I don't imagine we'll be seeing you again, Mr. Potter.'

Harry smiles slightly. 'You never know.'

'I know everything that goes on in my hotels.'

The smile never waivers. 'Then I guess I should put back those towels.'

Draco smiles at Ginny. 'The towels you can keep.'

Harry catches Ginny's eye for only a split second, but there's something there. Something that looks an awful lot like annoyance. She blinks and it's gone.

'Good seeing you, Ginny,' he says.

'Take care, Harry.'

He's on his way to the door when he hears Ginny's voice once more.

'I'm sorry,' she says.

Draco's reply is sharp and fast and undeniably fake.

'Don't be.'

He smiles to himself and heads out the door, unaware of the fact Colin is tailing him and has been for some time now. The perils of owning an Invisibility Cloak…and having friends who know where to find it.


End file.
